


This for That

by MyrandaRoyce



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: Abigail Lives, Eventual Abigail/Clarice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:41:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrandaRoyce/pseuds/MyrandaRoyce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Silence of the Lambs the FBI is eager to bring Hannibal Lecter back into custody.  Clarice Starling goes to interview the women from Dr. Lecter's past to see what information she can gather.  Abigail Hobbs starts to make a life for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The house was tucked behind a growth of large pine trees and a small lake, almost invisible from the gravel road. Starling would have missed it had she not been looking for it. It was a small old house covered in pealing light green paint. The house looked like something out of the storybooks she had been read as a child. Something out of time.  
  
There was no answer at the door so she tried to make herself comfortable on a rocking chair on the porch. Abigail Hobbs was an enigma Starling was not sure she wanted to dissect. The tabloid rumors about her were hard to stomach and the rumors that were whispered in the hallways of the academy were worse. It was Crawford who told her to talk to Hobbs if she wanted to know about Hannibal Lecter. _The Minnesota Shrike’s Daughter_ , he said, not even bothering to hide his disdain. _Her and Lecter were friendly._ Friendly was a loaded word, Starling knew, she still wasn’t sure how she was going to broach the subject.  
  
She had been there about half an hour before an old farm truck drove up. A woman jumped out followed by a large black dog. “Can I help you with something?" She asked.  
  
Starling recognized Abigail Hobbs from all the press pictures. She was young but had the look of someone who had worked too hard and grown up too fast, like someone who would gray before their time. She cleared her throat. “Hello Miss Hobbs, my name is Clarice Starling. I’m with the F.B.I, may I speak with you?"  
  
"You work for Crawford?"  
  
"Yes, I do."  
  
"You got a badge?"  
  
"Yes, of course." Starling fumbled inside her jacket and pulled it out.  
  
Hobbs did not approach her. “I think I made it pretty clear to Agent Crawford I don’t want to speak with you people without my lawyer present."  
  
"I understand you’ve been through a lot Miss Hobbs," Starling replied. “But I’ve come a very long way to talk with you and I’m not here accusing you of anything. I was, uh, hoping to talk to you about Dr. Lecter. He escaped from the mental institution and I-"  
  
"Hannibal?" Hobbs interjected. “Yeah I know. You can come in I guess, I’ll make us some coffee." The dog stayed outside.  
  
The interior of the house was clean but disorganized. Books and magazines were scattered around all the surfaces. Empty mugs sat around an open laptop. A few hunting rifles hung on the wall. "Sorry about the mess," Hobbs said. "I don't get company up here very often." She started the coffee pot.  
  
Starling motioned to the guns. "You hunt much?"  
  
"Sometimes. I'm not as good at it as I used to be. I don't hear as well anymore." Hobbs smiled like she had made a joke. She took a hair binder from her wrist and puller her long black hair into a ponytail, exposing the patch of uneven flesh where her ear used to be. "Does it bother you, Agent Starling? It bothers most people. I wear a prosthetic ear when I go to town but it's not comfortable."  
  
"It's fine, Miss Hobbs."  
  
"Miss Hobbs." She mimicked Starling's accent. "It's usually not a good sign when people start calling me that. Are you gonna be here a while? You should sit down."  
  
"Thank you." She took a seat and the small kitchen table. "I don't know how long I'll be here."  
  
The coffee pot beeped to signal it was ready.  "Cream and sugar, Agent Starling?"  
  
"No, thank you."  
  
Hobbs handed Starling her coffee and joined her at the little table. "That mark on your face, did Hannibal give it to you?"  
  
Absentmindedly Starling put her fingers over the gun powder mark. "Um, no, it wasn't him."  
  
Hobbs sunk back in her chair. "He likes doing that, you know, marking people. The last thing he told me was to remember all my scars. He didn't just mean my ear and the cut he made on my neck. He meant what my father did to me too. He called the house and made it happen. When someone leaves that many marks on you it's like you belong to them I guess. You should see all the marks he put on Will Graham. Have you talked to Will? He was closer to Hannibal than anybody."  
  
"Will Graham isn't interested in talking to me." An uneasy silence fell between them. Would Dr. Lecter consider what happen in Jame Gumb's house his own accomplishment? She wouldn't have figured it without him. Maybe he did like seeing her marked. Starling took a sip of her coffee and glanced out the window. A robin was pecking a blue bird house.  
  
Hobbs finally spoke, bringing Starling out of her thoughts. "I wanted to be an F.B.I agent once, you know. Hannibal liked the idea. But I thought they'd never let me. And well, now they really wouldn't let me. Agent Starling, what do you expect me to help you with?"  
  
"I'm just trying to get a sense of who Dr. Lecter is," she replied. "So I can catch him. Interviewing the people he knew is a logical course of action."  
  
"I doubt it will help," Hobbs said. "But I wouldn't want to interfere with you feeling productive so ask away."  
  
Starling tried to maintain a diplomatic face. "Do you mind if I record our conversation, Miss Hobbs? Just for my notes."  
  
"Sure, whatever."  
  
She laid her recorder out on the table. "Miss Hobbs, would you please tell me how you met Dr. Hannibal Lecter?"  
  
"Isn't that public knowledge, Clarice?"  
  
 _Clarice._ For a moment she imagined herself back in the mental institution. The doctor's voice ringing in her ears. _Clarice. Clarice. Clarice._ Starling cleared her throat. "I would like to hear it in your own words, if you don't mind."  
  
Hobbs shrugged. "He and Will came to my house and he held my neck to stop the bleeding. The nurses told me he stayed at my bedside for a while when I was in my coma too. But I really met him the day after I woke up."  
  
"But you spoke to him before that, didn't you? On the phone?" Starling asked.  
  
"He only said hello and asked to speak with my father," Hobbs said.  
  
"And you recognized his voice when you woke up?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why didn't you say anything?"  
  
"He helped me hide Nick Boyle's body," she replied. "We had an...agreement." She bit her lip or a moment. "The court already knows all of this," Hobbs added and took a sip of coffee.  
  
"I haven't read you you're rights, Miss Hobbs," Starling explained. "So none of this can be used against you. And like I said, I'm not here to accuse you of anything, I'm just trying to get a picture of Dr. Lecter."  
  
"I feel like you interrogating me, Clarice," Hobbs said. "This conversation is wasted time. The answer to everything you're asking me is on file. Why don't you just get on your computer and look it up?"  
  
Silence fell again. Starling was failing in her objective. _Think_ , she told herself, _think_. She didn't come all the way to middle of nowhere Minnesota to get sassed by an admitted killer. Starling took a deep breath and asked, "was your relationship with Dr. Lecter sexual?"  
  
"Was yours,Clarice?" Hobbs shot back. "Was your relationship with Dr. Lecter sexual?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Oh, didn't you see the papers, Clarice?" Hobbs asked. "They said you shared stories about your sex life to get information on Buffalo Bill. Quid pro quo. Yes or no, Clarice?"  
  
"No," she answered.     
  
"You seem like you're lying, Clarice."  
  
Starling took another sip of her coffee, it had gone cold. "We exchanged information. Not about sex though. Other things."  
  
"What sort of things?"  
  
"We're not here to talk about me, Miss Hobbs." Starling was irritated. She was starting to understand Crawford's dislike of her.     
  
"We're here to talk about Hannibal," she said. "I asked a question about Hannibal."  
  
Starling finished the rest of the cold coffee in one gulp. "Please just answer my question."  
  
Hobbs gave a smirk. _She was trying to get a rise out of me_ , Starling realized. _Goddammit._  
  
"No," Hobbs answered. "We got near it a few times but we where never, ah...intimate. Sex is a little tricky for Hannibal. He's too particular. He plans things too obsessively. He could never enjoy it. It's a tragedy really, he misses out on a lot."  
  
"Alright then, Miss Hobbs," Starling said, "how would you describe your relationship with Dr. Lecter."  
  
"I think he liked to think of himself as an older brother."  
  
"Is that why you think he saved your life?" Starling asked.  
  
Hobbs stood up from the table and grabbed both coffee mugs. She placed them by the sink. "Agent Starling, I don't think I have anything else more useful to say. How about you go back to Jack Crawford now. It'll be dark soon anyway, Clarice. I wouldn't want you on an unfamiliar rode at night."  
  
Starling made a polite good bye and left her business card on the table. She cursed herself the whole ride back to the bed and breakfast she was staying in. The hope was that sitting face to face would make the conversation easier, but with how things went a phone call would have been more efficient. Or a text message. Hobbs had told her nothing. Well, not nothing. The information about him liking to mark people might prove to be useful but she doubted it was worth the trip.  
  
It wasn't until she climbed into bed that she realized her mistake. The dislike between Hobbs and Crawford was mutual. She should have avoided telling her who she worked for. _Dammit, Starling,_ she scolded herself, _you're never gonna catch him if you keep fucking up._  
  
****  
Abigail Hobbs sat on her front porch with her dog. With the light from her house she could make out the text of the letter Hannibal had sent her last week. There was nothing unusual about it. He didn't taunt her. He didn't mention her in it at all really. It was just a few pages of recollections of a painting he saw in Paris as a young man. _I think you would like Paris_ , was the only reference he made to her. She kept reading it over and over as if a hidden message would pop up if she read it enough times. Hobbs sighed and went inside. Clarice Starling's business card still lay on her kitchen table.


	2. Chapter 2

Starling had never been so happy to see the small two bedroom apartment she shared with Ardelia Mapp.  
  
"How was Minnesota?" Ardelia asked as Starling walked in. She was on the couch looking through a case file.  
  
"Frigid," Starling answered, hanging up her coat and throwing her travel bag on the floor.  "What are you working on?"  
  
"A drug thing," she said, "nothing special. You and the Hobbs girl didn't get along?"  
  
Starling sat down next to her. "She's a cold bitch."  
  
"That bad, huh?"  
  
"I don't like the way she talks," Starling said. "And she didn't tell me nothing. I don't know what Crawford thought I was going to get out of her. She hates Crawford I know that."  
  
Ardelia laughed. "She's a murderer and he's a fed, do you really expect them to be buddies?"  
  
"I guess not."  
  
"Hey, cheer up, Clarice," Ardelia said. "It can't have been a total waste. You'll feel better after you've had some time to think. You in the mood for cookies? I'm in the mood for cookies."  
  
***  
Ardelia was right, she felt better after a long hot shower and a quick nap. Her friend had left her a plate of cookies before she went out. Starling nibbled on them while she worked on her laptop. Crawford expected her report tomorrow. It's gonna be an awful short report, she thought to herself. She listened to the recording of the conversation.  
  
  
 _The nurses told me he stayed at my bedside for a while when I was in my coma....Quid pro quo. Yes or no, Clarice?...I think he liked to think of himself as an older brother...._  
  
 _Older brother._ She had a hard time imagining him being loving towards anyone. Protective maybe. He had talked Miggs into killing himself after what he did to Starling. But was it protectiveness or like he said a distaste for what he perceived as rudeness or was it simply boredom? What was is about Abigail Hobbs that inspired him to look after her. Save her.  
  
Starling flipped through the Lecter case file again. It said nothing about his family. She searched through the latest census under the name Lecter and sorted through the results. It wasn't hard to narrow down.  One person  in particular stood out to her. Mischa Lecter. Age forty-three. An immigrant from Lithuania.  
  
"Gotcha," Starling whispered.  
  
***  
When Starling came into the office Crawford was leaning on a desk a surveying a board of pictures. Three agents were hanging on his every word. Starling waited until they were finished.  
  
"Agent Crawford, sir," she said, stepping forward.  
  
"You got a report for me, Starling?" Crawford asked.  
  
"I do," she answered, "and you wont like it. Hobbs didn't want to talk. But I got something better. Did you know Lecter has a sister?"  
  
"Sister? Last I heard Lecter's whole family lives in Lithuania."  
  
"Mischa Lecter doesn't, sir," Starling said. "She's in New York City."  
  
"Alight," he said, "go get her Starling. Thanks for the report."  
  
"Your welcome." Starling smiled. "And thank you."  
  
***  
Abigail Hobbs had developed a routine since she had started living in her cabin. She got up with the sun and ran around with her dog, Elizabeth. Then she had a cup of coffee and made a list of everything that had to get done that day. She was low on groceries today. The rest of morning was spent working for the web design company that employed her. She never had to met anyone face to face for work and she liked it that way.  
  
She drove into town to get her groceries after lunch.She thought about the conversation she had with Clarice Starling. If Starling knew what was good for her she would give up trying to find Hannibal. Nothing good ever happened to the people he knew. _She could end up like me_ , Abigail thought bitterly. _Or worse, she could end up like Will_. A fit of anxiety had appeared in the pit of her stomach when Starling showed up and it had not left since.  She hated to admit it but she was afraid Hannibal would come after her. He hadn't reacted the way she thought he would when it was revealed that she would testify against him. It didn't seem to bother him at all. But then again, he was nothing if not good at hiding his feelings. _Maybe he doesn't hate me for it. He would do the same to you in a heart beat. No, don't be stupid, Abigail. He hates you for it._  
  
When she stood in line to pay for her groceries she spotted a display of postcards. Abigail grabbed one and put in her cart.  
  
****  
  
Mischa Lecter lived on the fifth floor of an old brick apartment building. Starling climbed the stairs praying to God this would go better than her last interview.  
  
"Agent Starling, I presume," Mischa Lecter said when she answered the door. Starling nodded. "Come in."  
  
The apartment was small but the decoration made it seem spacious. It was mostly white and grey with a few accents of blue. Her surroundings differed greatly from her brother's baroque sensibilities. Mischa wore jeans and a loose white button up shirt.  
  
"Tea, Agent Starling?"  
  
"Yes, thank you," Starling said, taking a seat on the couch. "Miss Lecter, would you mind if I recorded our conversation? Just for my notes."  
  
Mischa handed her a white tea cup and sat on a chair across from her. "Perhaps you could take notes by hand, Agent Starling."    
  
Starling nodded with a tense smile. _Not off to a great start._ She took a moment to take in the woman who sat across from her. Mischa Lecter had a few wrinkles, crow's feet around her eyes, lines around her lips left by years of smoking.  She lit a cigarette with a silver lighter, custom engraved probably, and tucked her hair back behind her ear. Her hair was long and black with a few wisps of grey around the temples.  
  
"Ahem." Starling cleared her throat. "Um, I guess we could get started now." She paused a moment. "Are you, uh, familiar with Abigail Hobbs?"  
  
She took a drag of her cigarette. "I saw her in the news, poor girl. But I don't know her."  
  
"Okay." Starling took a sip of her tea. "May I ask why you didn't come forward during the trial? No one even knew Dr. Lecter had a family."  
  
"Well," she replied, "it didn't seem like a good time for the family to advertise our relation."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"It hasn't been so bad for me," she continued.  "A lone Lecter in America is fairly obscure. I get some looks when I introduce myself but that's all. It's been harder on my aunt and uncle. The news reached home and they're quite well known there. Agent Starling, why do think talking to me will help you find my brother?"  
  
"We're trying to get a feel of him, Miss Lecter," Starling said. "See if we can't tell where he might go and why. Not much is known about him. We're just trying to understand. Could you tell me about your childhood with him? Where you lived? What was he like?"  
  
"Our parents died when we where very young," she began," Hannibal was eight and I was four. Our aunt and uncle took us in at Lecter Castle. They were very kind to us, affectionate. We didn't want for anything. It was a nice place to grow up."  
  
"And how was Dr. Lecter?" Starling asked. "How did he take your parents death?"  
  
Mischa Lecter hesitated a moment.  "He didn't seem too disturbed by it. But I was very little then, I might not of noticed."  
  
"Of course, Miss Lecter, that's understandable.  Were you and Dr. Lecter close growing up?"  
  
"Yes," she answered, "I didn't really have friends. He was my world. We did everything together."  
  
"Was there any dysfunction in your family that may have affected your brother?"  
  
"Every family has dysfunction, Agent Starling," Mischa replied. "But the dysfunction we had I would say Hannibal was the cause of. That's cruel of me though, isn't it? Blaming it on a child. Though I suppose he wasn't really a child by then." She reached the end of her cigarette. She lit another one.  
  
Starling shifted in her seat. "What did Dr. Lecter do?"  
  
"It was small things at first," she said. "Things many children do. Pulling legs off flies, that sort of thing. No one thought anything of it until later. But then he started doing that sort of things to animals. I...I had a kitten when I was nine years old. He killed her. He never said why." She took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair. "He didn't like it when I talked to other people, especially boys. He took steps to prevent it from happening."  
  
"Did you come to America with you brother?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"There uh, there was a boy that I liked." Mischa replied. "A beautiful boy. I was seventeen. He asked me to go to a show with him. I was so excited, no one had ever asked me out before. My aunt even bought me a new dress." She smiled slightly at the memory. "We had a very nice time. And I woke up the next morning to learn he had been...he'd been killed. I was the last person known to have been with him so for a while the police thought it was me who killed him. It was a...difficult time. Even after my name was cleared nothing felt the same. I just wanted to get out and start over, so when Hannibal asked me to come to America with him I said yes."  
  
Starling could see Mischa Lecter was holding back tears but she had to press on. She  might finally be getting somewhere. "Your brother came here for medical school?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And what did you do?"  
  
"For a while I just hung around his apartment. It was very domestic," she said. "For a while things were exactly how he wanted them. That's why he...that's why he did what he did to that boy. So I couldn't play house with anyone but him. I got fed up after a while and got a job and a retail store. Hannibal was so mad he wouldn't talk to me for days. I moved out as soon as I had the money."  
  
"Did you maintain contact with your brother, Miss Lecter?"  
  
Mischa nodded. "We saw each other a lot, but I had my own friends and my own life. It was harder for him to stop me here than it was back home. But eventually we did stop talking."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I uh, had a birthday party once," Mischa answered. "I invited some of my friends and my boyfriend, and Hannibal. It was nice. Everyone got along. I thought Hannibal was finally over whatever was up with him. But when I came home to my apartment a few days later I found the two of them there. Hannibal had attacked my boyfriend. I thought he was going to kill him. I talked him down and he left. We never saw each other after that. He sent Christmas cards. And he would call sometimes and never say anything, just hang up. Eventually he stopped. I haven't spoken to him in about twenty years, Agent Starling." A few tears fell silently down her checks. Her abandoned cigarette lay smoking on the table. "My brother had an idea of who I was, and I wasn't that girl."  
  
Starling cleared her throat again. "I have one last question for you, Miss Lecter. Do you know of any family residences he might use or place he told you he would like to visit?"  
  
She nodded. "We never sold our parents house. And when he was a little boy he told me he wanted to visit every museum in Europe but I'm not sure that will help you at all."  
  
"You've been a great help, Miss Lecter," Starling assured her. "Really. Thank you for talking to me." She stood up and readied herself to leave.  
  
Mischa walked her to the door. "I'm glad I could be of help, I hope you catch him," she said. She paused a moment. "My aunt, Lady Murasaki, will be in the states next month if you want to speak with her. Have a safe trip home, Agent Starling." When she closed the door Starling was sure she heard sobbing.  
  
Guilt followed her the whole trip back to Baltimore. She started typing up her report on the plane before she could forget anything. Dr. Chilton had Dr. Lecter in his custody for years and never gathered this much information about his past. _My brother had an idea of who I was_. Who did Dr. Lecter view his sister as? What did he want from her that she couldn't provide? She considered that his possessiveness of his sister stemmed from incestuous desires. Then dismissed it. Then considered it again. The Hobbs girl did say they got close to intimacy. Did Abigail Hobbs fulfill the want Hannibal Lecter was after or did she fail like her predecessor.  
  
The apartment was empty when Starling got home. She turned on the light and looked through the pile of mail on the kitchen counter. There was a postcard on the bottom of the pile. It was a picture of a loon floating on a bright blue lake. The caption said: _Best Wishes From Ely, Minnesota_. She turned it over and read:  
  
 _Clarice,_  
  
 _Hannibal has a house in Florence. You may want to check there._  
  
 _Best wishes,_  
  
 _A. H._    



	3. Chapter 3

"Starling, we can't just waltz into Florence and do a door to door search." Crawford told her when she presented him with the post card. "We don't have the man power or the jurisdiction." They were sitting in Crawford's office.  
  
"I understand that sir, I really do," she replied. "And I'm not suggesting that's what we do. What I am suggesting is that this is the most solid lead we've had so far and maybe we should think about perusing it."  
  
"Abigail Hobbs is not a solid lead," he said, "she's covering her own ass by trying to look useful. It's a thing she does. She's manipulative, I should have warned you. That's the first thing Dr. Bloom said after talking with her. She has a penchant for manipulation and doesn't display emotions. Have you talked to Bloom? She knew Lecter too."  
  
"Dr. Bloom is out of town, I checked. I'll talk to her when she gets back." Starling ran a hand through her hair and leaned forward. " And I get that, sir, but we really should look into it. She could know exactly where the house is. She might have stayed there herself. Besides his sister he hasn't spoken to in twenty years, I think Hobbs might know him better than anyone. And if she's finally willing to cooperate she would be a great asset."  
  
"You think I haven't asked her all these things already?" Crawford demanded. "I asked where Lecter kept her. I asked why Lecter didn't kill her. I asked her a lot of things and she never spoke a word to me.  Hobbs refuses to elaborate on anything she said in court. I'm sorry I sent you to talk her, it was a waste of time and money. Hobbs has murdered one person and was an accessory to the murders of six others. She should be in prison but she got herself a damn good lawyer. That I don't know how she payed for since all her father's money went to the families of his victims."  
  
"She won't talk to you because she doesn't like you!" Starling exclaimed. "Listen sir, I don't know what the deal is between the two of you but she hates your guts. Of course she won't talk to you."  
  
"Starling-"  
  
No, sir, listen," she pressed on. "You sent me to talk to Dr. Lecter because you knew he wouldn't talk to you. You say the wrong things to Dr. Lecter and he shuts down. Won't talk for weeks. Hobbs is the same. She needs to talk to someone she's comfortable with or she won't talk. Of course she's covering her own ass. As far as I can tell she wants two things: to stay out of prison and for Lecter to stay in prison. If we can promise her both those things she'll open up. I'm certain of it."  
  
Crawford buried his face in his hands. "Starling listen, I'll put a notice through to the Italian authorities and tell them to keep an eye out for him Florence but that's all. You're done with Hobbs now, okay? Conduct the rest of your interviews."  
  
She stood up. "Yes sir. Thank you sir."  
  
****  
Clarice Starling leaned back in her car seat and closed her eyes. She tried to have some perspective about the situation. Crawford had worked on the Lecter and the Hobbs case. Maybe he really did understand Abigail Hobbs more than she ever could. Maybe she was getting played. _What would Hobbs get out of playing you?_ She asked herself. _Amusement? Crawford told you to be done, so be done._  
  
 _You need to get more fun out of life_ , Dr. Lecter's voice came back to her.  
  
 _Dammit, Starling_ , she thought, _dammit._ Abigail Hobbs was an asset even if Crawford couldn't see it.  
  
She opened her eyes and started the car. She was scheduled to interview Dr. Du Maurier in half an hour.  
  
*****  
Sitting next across from Bedelia Du Maurier felt alarmingly like sitting across from Hannibal Lecter. There was no glass wall between them but it certainly felt like there was. Du Maurier had an aura of the untouchable. She was a woman to be handled with white gloves, not because she was delicate, but because she could not stand for any impurity in her domain. Du Maurier had let Starling sit down but had not offered her a drink or to take her jacket. This was to be a short conversation.  
  
Starling took a deep breath, still trying to calm down after her meeting with Crawford and pulled out her recorder. "Dr. Du Maurier could you please tell me how you met Dr. Lecter."  
  
"At a party," she said, her voice soft, "years ago. It was a charity benefit. Someone introduced us and we found each other interesting."  
  
"How did you become his psychiatrist?"  
  
"He asked me to coffee after the party and I agreed to go," she said. "He'd been working as a psychiatrist for a year and half at that point. He told me about some of his difficulties and I recommended he see a psychiatrist of his own. So he asked to see me."  
  
"I see," Starling said. "And he continued to see you after your retirement?"    
  
"Yes."    
  
"Why?"  
  
"He's a persuasive man, Agent Starling," she answered. "You've spoken to him, I'm sure you've noticed."  
  
"Was it just persuasion, ma'am?" Starling asked. "Or that he killed a man for you?"  
  
Du Maurier pursed her lips. "That man tried to kill me."  
  
"Of course. During your sessions together did he ever mention Abigail Hobbs."  
  
The doctor nodded. "A few times. He was very fond of her. He felt like he had a responsibility to her. Dr. Lecter does not enjoy the company of many people. He's very selective about who he invests time in."  
  
I see," Starling said. "And did he ever mention a sister to you?"  
  
"Mischa?" She asked. "Only that she died."  
  
"Died?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
****  
  
Starling considered what would be the best way to contact Hobbs again. In person was too much of a hassle and hadn't gone well the last time she tired it. A phone call was too personal. An email was too impersonal. In the end she decided to contact her the same way she had been contacted. She stopped by a gas station on the way home and picked up a postcard. She wrote:  
  
 _Dear Miss Hobbs,_  
  
 _Thank you for the information, we're looking into it._  
  
 _Sincerely,_  
  
 _Clarice Starling_


	4. Chapter 4

As a child Abigail Hobbs had ambitions of being a superhero. One night when she was seven years she had caught an old Superman movie on television and decided that was who she was going to be. By the time she was twelve she understood this was impossible and after that she didn't know what she wanted to be. When the FBI entered into her life it seemed like a way for her to be as great as the heroes of childhood. But now she somewhat accepted that her being a hero was about as likely as her gaining the ability to fly.

Who hasn't had at one point the wish the be famous? To be Known. To undeniably matter. Abigail was known, but she didn't think she mattered. She wasn't loved. She never was. The word 'guilty' hung over her like a cloud. It was her most consistent company. She was first and foremost, a survivor . For so long living with her father and then living under Hannibal's rule, everything she did, every word she said, every action, was a step toward living to tomorrow. Now she had tomorrow. A large number of tomorrows and they all seemed empty.

Abigail sat, like she always did, on her front porch, looking up at the stars. Elizabeth sat panting beside her. She ran a hand through her fur. "This wasn't supposed to be my life," she whispered. The dog merely wagged her tail. "I am about to do something very stupid." Abigail stood up and walked back into the house. 

She grabbed the box above her fridge and starting digging through all her paperwork until see found her old address book. Her phone was on the counter next to the postcard Clarice Starling had sent. Abigail took a deep breath and dialed.

"Freddie Lounds speaking." There was the sound of muffled dance music in the background.

"Hi, um hello," she stumbled over her words. "This is, uh, Abigail Hobbs."

"Abigail? Okay, just hold on one second." She heard Freddie hiss, "Wendy, turn that music off."

"Hello?" Abigail said again.

"I am so happy to hear from you," Freddie said. "What can I help you with?"

"Do you still want to write that book?"

"Absolutely," she answered. "I would love to. Should we meet up in person to talk about it? Where do you live? I could stop by."

"No," Abigail said, "you stay where you are, I'll come down to Baltimore. How about I call you when I get in?

"Yes, okay," Freddie said. "I'm really looking forward to it."

"I'm sure you are," she replied. "Have a good night. Bye." She hung up the phone and looked down at Elizabeth. "Tell me I'm not going to regret this."

Elizabeth slumped on the floor.

*****

Freddie Lounds stretched out on the bed. "This is it, Wendy," she said, "this is gonna be huge."

Wendy climbed on top of her a left a kiss on the bridge of her nose. "Are you sure anyone even cares about Abigail Hobbs anymore?"

"I'll make them care," Freddie said. "That's my job, I make people care. Besides, it's the story of century if you package it right. Young girl seduced into evil by a handsome man only to overcome and dedicate herself to goodness. Church ladies and housewives will love that shit."

"You're wicked."

"That's why you love me." Freddie gently pushed Wendy off her and sat up. She grabbed her pen and notebook off from the side table and began writing. "Abigail is smart girl. We can make this work."

Wendy pulled herself out of the bed. "If nothing is going on here I'm gonna go check on the club, okay?"

"This late at night?"

"You're working this late at night, Freddie." Wendy leaned down and kissed her. "I'll be back before breakfast."

After she had gone Freddie looked through all her old files until she found the materials she'd gathered years ago when they first planed on writing the book. The notes. The photographs of the dead girls. They hadn't even gotten the first chapter done before she was proclaimed dead. She had liked Abigail Hobbs with her old fashioned sweaters and constant teenage arrogance. She had potential. Freddie Lounds liked people with potential.

****  
Clarice Starling met Alana Bloom in her classroom. They sat side by side in two desks at the front. The mass of open space loomed over them.

Dr. Bloom spoke first. "Jack told me you spoke to Abigail Hobbs."

Clarice nodded. "Yes ma'am, I did."

"How was she?"

"She, um, she didn't really want to talk me."

"No, she wouldn't, would she?" Alana said. "She never really liked talking to me either. Abigail always liked to avoid things that involved be expected to tell the truth. It makes sense now, of course. I called her after the trial but she never answered. That's the hardest part of being a doctor. Not being able to help your patients when they need it."

"Miss Hobbs looked healthy." Starling offered. "And she has a nice little house and a dog."

Alana nodded. "Good. That's good."

"Um, could you tell me how you and Dr. Lecter met?"

Alana sat up straighter as if she had come out of a daze. "He was my mentor while I was in school and he introduced to a lot of influential people."

"Were you and Dr. Lecter close?" Starling asked. "Like friends."

"Friends? Yes, you could say could say that."

"What else could you say, doctor?"

She looked blankly ahead at the wall. "Lovers. We had an affair. After Will was arrested. It was brief but...." Alana took a deep breath and looked down into her lap. "I ate at his house. I helped him cook. I..." She placed a hand over her face. Her breath was shaky. "I was very naive." When she looked back at Starling her face had regained it's stoic look. "He fooled us all. All of us besides Will. And we didn't listen to him. That was a mistake."

"Did Dr. Lecter ever mention any family to you? Any place he might go?"

"He liked Florence. He told me he was an orphan."

Starling nodded. "Could you tell me what his relationship with Miss Hobbs was like?"

"I'm not sure I can," she replied. "They spent a lot of time together, I'm not sure what they did. He took her out of the hospital and brought her over for dinner at his house. I was so mad at him but I let it go. I shouldn't have. I think Abigail liked having someone she didn't have to lie to. Hannibal...I don't know what he wanted. I'm sorry Agent Starling,I know Jack wanted me to talk to you but I don't have anything to say."

"Well, uh, that's okay," Starling replied, "take my card and if you think of anything you wanna say just give me a call."

"I will, thank you," she said, standing up. "Oh, and Agent Starling?"

"Yes?"

"If you talk to Abigail again please tell her I would like to talk to her."

"I will."

"Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! I've had a pretty busy week so I didn't have much energy for writing.


	5. Chapter 5

When Abigail reached Baltimore she found herself traveling down familiar streets until she reached Hannibal's house. It loomed, like it always did. Abigail pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and used it to pick the lock. Everything inside was covered in a thick layer of dust. The police had left everything that couldn't be used as evidence where it was. She wondered around the house with Elizabeth not far behind. The kitchen was completely empty. She was sure the basement was too but she dared not look.  The  nights she had spent locked down there still hung heavy on her mind.   
  
She went upstairs to his bedroom. He had never been permitted her to see it. It was as she expected. A few paintings on the wall. The bed was made with silk sheets. His wardrobe was mahogany. Abigail opened it and ran her fingers over his collection of suits. There a small shopping bag at the bottom of the wardrobe. There was a gift wrapped box and a card. The card read:  
  
 _Dear Abigail,_  
 _Merry Christmas. I hope we can spend some time together._  
 _Love,_  
 _Will_  
  
Abigail sat on the bed and ripped the wrapping paper off the box. It was a fishing kit. _Did you fish or did you hunt, Abigail?_ She threw it against the wall. Her eyes started to tear up. He ruined everything. Hannibal ruined everything. He ruined her. He ruined Will. Everything around him burned to the ground. Abigail leaped off the bed and attacked Hannibal's closet. She grabbed one of his suits off the hanger and ripped it apart the seams. She took her pocked knife out of her jeans and made large slashes in the fabric. When she was done she sat panting on the floor surrounded by Hannibal's collection of tailor made suits completely and utterly ruined. Elizabeth looked at her from across the room. "Shut up," Abigail muttered and threw a wad of fabric at her. The dog let out a whine and left the room. Abigail laid down on the floor and sobbed.   
  
She didn't know how long she had been curled up there when Elizabeth started barking. She heard the sound of a woman yelping downstairs. Abigail dried her eyes and ran down stairs.  
  
Elizabeth had corned a woman in the living room. "Down Elizabeth!" Abigail ordered. "Come here girl." The dog retreated to Abagail's side. The woman let out a sigh of relief. Abigail took a good look at her. She older, middle aged. She had long hair, not unlike her own, that fell down across her shoulders.   
  
The woman spoke first, "You're Abigail Hobbs. I saw you on the news."  
  
She nodded. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"Mischa," she said. "Mischa Lecter."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"No."  
  
Abigail looked at her, eyes wide. "I thought you were dead."  
  
Mischa smiled a sad little smile. "For a while everyone thought you were dead so I guess we have something in common."  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"I could ask the same of you," Mischa said. "I just wanted to see the place. I asked my brother's lawyer to let me. I wanted to see how he lived. I suspect it's a similar reason for you."  
  
"Um, yeah," she replied. "I can just go then." Abigail made a move toward the door.  
  
"No, please," Mischa pleaded. "Let me talk to you. Please tell me what my brother did to you."   
  
For a moment there was no noise but the sound of Elizabeth's breathing. Finally Abigail spoke. "You tell me what he did to you first, then I'll talk."  
  
"Alright," she said. "But not here. I don't like the feeling here."  
  
*****  
Abigail finished off her coffee as Mischa finished her story. They had found a near by coffee shop and left Elizabeth in the car. Mischa looked at her expectantly. Trying to stall Abigail asked her, "what do you for a living, anyway?"  
  
"I'm an art dealer in New York," she answered.   
  
"Oh," Abigail said. "I used to steal art.  
  
Mischa laughed. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah." Abigail smiled. "I was a criminal mastermind for a while. I stole art. I stole cars. I stayed away from drugs though because that's never not a slippery slope."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"You know being a criminal mastermind is not nearly as rewarding as you would think," she said. "But I do miss the money the sometimes." Abigail twisted her hands together on the table. "I never...I've never talked about what happened. Not even to my lawyer. First time for everything though."  
  
Mischa reached out and placed a hand over hers. "You don't have to tell me, Abigail. I'm sorry I asked."  
  
"No," Abigail said. "No, I want to. You're the only person who knows him, really. I was always suspicious of him, but I just pushed it aside for so long. I just needed something, anything, after what my father did. I needed someone who didn't hate me. I'm a monster and he told me I wasn't. I needed that."  
  
"You're not a monster, Abigail," Mischa said softly.  
  
"Maybe I'm not a monster," she said, "I am monstrous. A murderer, a liar, and a thief. Hannibal taught me how to lie. I thought I was good at it before I met him, but I wasn't. It's amazing it took the FBI took as long to figure me out as they did. I have nervous twitches, you know. He taught me how to control them. I thought him things too." She smiled. "I fixed his car for him once, he was useless with stuff like that. He could cut someone open and do a perfect operation but he couldn't fix a car engine."  
  
"My Uncle Robert tried to teach him," Mischa said. "Hannibal wouldn't have any of it. He liked his books better."  
  
"Maybe he should have read a book about how to fix a car," Abigail said. "He reads books about everything else. He acts like he came up with all his grand ideas himself, but you can find them all in his library. He has a pretty impressive collection of Marquis de Sade. There's so many things about him that points to who he really is and somehow everyone missed it. Or we just didn't want to see. I felt safe around him despite everything. I went back to my house in Minnesota once and he was there waiting or me. I thought it would be alright."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"He cut off my ear," she said. "He slit my throat too but I don't remember it." Abigail took a long, shaky breath. "When I woke up I was in his guest bedroom. He cleaned my wounds and stitched me back up. He didn't talk to me all at and I was pretty drugged up anyway. After a while he moved me down to the basement to hide me. I can't remember a how long I was down there. A week maybe. When I got my strength back up he said I had to stay with him and listen or the FBI would find me and arrest me for what I did. What my I helped my father do. He said he took a leave of absence from work to stay with me. Hannibal took me to a house he had on the east coast. We drove because I didn't have an I.D. We stayed there for a week or so. It was strange. Hannibal acted like nothing had happened, like he didn't hurt me. So I acted that way too. He told me about you, only he said you were dead. Dead since childhood. And that he missed you. That I reminded him of you and that's why he wouldn't let anyone else hurt me. He's sentimental, that surprised me about him.  
  
"After he got me a fake I.D. he sent me to to live at his house in Florence. I never saw him after that. But he would call. And write. He never really gave me money, he just bought what he thought I should have. He bought my clothes and food. Opera tickets even. I tried to get a job but I never really got the hang of the language. So one day I stole something. A pearl necklace. I sold it to an American tourist and I finally had control over my life, real control. So I stole something else. And then another thing. Eventually a group noticed me and with higher stakes I had higher amounts of money and I didn't need Hannibal anymore. I was good at it too. I was really good. I never got caught.  
  
"But it's sucks, you know, having to hide all the time. When Hannibal was caught I wanted to see if I could have a life again. It was hard and I keep wondering what I fought for."  
  
"You have a life, don't you, Abigail?" Mischa said, voice soft. "That's worth something."  
  
"Is it?" Abigail squeezed her eyes shut. "Is it worth it to live in fear all the time? I broke our agreement. I helped put him in jail. He wouldn't hesitant to kill me. I'm a freak anyway, no one wants me around. I want to start over. Go back to Florence maybe. No one looked at me funny there, my partners had worse scars then me."  
  
"Abigail," Mischa said, "I know you probably won't believe me, but I understand how you feel. I never joined organized crime, but you know from what I told you I know what it's like to live under total control.  My brother likes making people feel like this. Afraid and lonely. He told people I was dead because he couldn't stand that I had a life outside his influence. He's very strong in some ways, and very dangerous, but he's weak at heart."  
  
"I talked to Freddie Lounds," Abigail said. "that crime gossip blogger. Before I went away she always said I have to tell my own story. It's stupid, but I feel like maybe she could help me build myself up. She wants to write about me."  
  
Mischa smiled. "That's not stupid, honey, it's a good start."  
  
She returned the smile. "You really think?"  
  
"I do.  
  
"Okay, if that's step one, what's step two?" Abigail asked.  
  
"I don't think I can tell you that."    
  
****  
  
When they parted outside the coffee shop Mischa gathered Abigail up into a tight hug. "If you ever want to see New York City just give me a call and we'll paint the town, okay?" Abigail laughed and nodded. Mischa kissed her where her ear used to be and said a last goodbye.  
  
After she had driven away Abigail went back to Hannibal's house and retrieved the gift Will had never given to her. Hunting down Will Graham didn't take much time. She heard his perfect life in Florida had fallen to shambles and he moved back to Wolftrap.   
  
It was twilight when she reached his house and climbed out of her truck with Elizabeth following her lead. Will's hoard of dogs started barking as she knocked on the door. When he finally came he looked at her in confusion. "Abigail?" he choked out. He looked terrible. He was unshaven and mostly undressed. His face was taken over by a large scar.  
  
"Hi, Will," Abigail said.  
  
"What...What are you doing here?"  
  
Abigail held out the fishing kit. "I want you to teach me how to fish.


	6. Chapter 6

Will Graham looked at her in befuddlement. "Where did you get that?"  
  
"I went to Hannibal's house," Abigail answered. "Can I come in?"  
  
Will stepped aside and let her through the door. The house was as much of a mess as he was. Piles of laundry and dirty dishes littered the place. Abigail stepped around a pile of broken beer bottles. Dog hair covered everything.   
  
"Um," Will said, "sorry. Would you like something to drink? I have water and...I have water."  
  
"I'm fine," she said. "Will, you look awful."  
  
"I feel awful."  
  
"Have you eaten today?" Abigail asked. "I haven't really, let's order a pizza. You can take me fishing in the morning."   
  
Will nodded.   
  
They barely spoke all night. Instead they sat not quite touching on the crouch, surrounded by the their dogs, watching television. Will fell asleep a few hours before midnight and Abigail took the liberty of sleeping in his bed.   
  
She woke up before him. She never slept for long. His house looked even worse basked in the morning sunlight. Abigail looked through his cupboards trying to find something edible and came up with nothing. She left Elizabeth with the other dogs and drove to town.  
  
By the time she got back to his house with muffins and coffee Will was playing on the floor with her dog. For the first time since she'd come he had the semblance of a smile. "Thanks," he muttered when she handed him his coffee. "I'll get dressed." It took Will a long time to find clean clothes. While Abigail waited she sat on his front step and looked around at the field that surrounded his house.   
  
When Will finally came out they climbed into Abigail's truck and made there way to the lake. "You know, Minnesota has like a billion lakes," Abigail said. "It's really weird that I don't know how to fish. You can barely walk five feet in Minnesota without running into another lake."  
  
"It's not hard," Will said. "It's mostly a patience thing. You have to always wait for exactly the right moment."   
  
"Why didn't you give me that present?" Abigail asked.   
  
"I never should have bought it in the first place," he said. "Alana Bloom kept warning me not to get too attached to you. And I thought it would remind you of hunting, and I didn't want to do that to you."  
  
The reached the lake and Abigail stopped the car. "I tried to talk to you after the trial."  
  
"I didn't want to talk to you, Abigail."  
  
"Yeah," she said, "I got that loud and clear. I know things between us weren't great but..."  
  
"I went to prison because of you," He spat out.  
  
"Will-"  
  
"No," he continued. "It was always you and Lecter. You always went to him. That was a great plan the two of you made together. Throwing up your ear was certainly a nice touch, it really threw me off balance. And the best part is I believed you. I believed I would kill you because I woke up one morning and realized I didn't know who you were anymore."  
  
"You never knew who I was," Abigail said.  
  
"Clearly," Will said. "Do you have any idea how hard I defended you against Jack Crawford when he said you helped your father murder those girls? I was so wrong about you. I was wrong about a lot of things. And to top all that off you killed Nicholas Boyle. Who are you, Abigail?"  
  
"You killed my father!" Abigail shouted.  
  
"I did it to save you," he yelled back.   
  
"I know," she said. "I know. My father was bad person and he deserve to die but he was my father. You just killed him and expected me to love you. When you killed my father it was okay because you where protecting me, but when I killed Nick Boyle to protect myself I'm a murderer? That's bullshit, Will. You've never known who I am because you had an idea and never challenged it. I never really knew who you were either and I came here to change that. And I'm sorry, Will. I'm sorry about a lot of things. My life is fucked up and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if I ever had a chance. I'm sorry Hannibal used me to hurt you but he hurt me too, Will. He hurt me really bad. And I can't hide what happened to me anymore. What he did isn't as simple as wearing a scarf to make people stop asking questions."  
  
They were both silent a long a time.   
  
"Abigail," Will said. "What you father did fucked me up. I can't ever get it out of head. And I thought if you could live through what he did to you I could too. If you could be alright and move on with your life and be normal, things would be okay. But you didn't get through it untainted. I couldn't deal with you killing Nicholas Boyle, or Lecter helping you. I couldn't deal with you helping you father even though I knew you didn't want to."  
  
"That's not fair," Abigail replied. "You can't put me on a pedestal like that."  
  
"I know," he said, "I know. I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm sorry," Abigail said. "I think we're gonna be saying that to each other a lot."  
  
"Probably."   
  
"Are you okay, Will?" Abigail asked. "I heard a little about what happened with that dragon guy."  
  
He grimaced. "My wife left me and I'm a bit of an alcoholic and I don't have a job, but I'm fine."  
  
"Are seeing anyone about the whole being a depressed addict thing?"  
  
"Sort of," he mumbled, "I think I'll start going to AA. But I'm not really leaping at the chance to see another psychiatrist if that's what you mean."   
  
"Yeah," she said, "I can't imagine you would be. We should uh, do this fishing thing. People always say it's a good bonding activity."  
  
"Yeah, okay."  
  
They got out of the car and grabbed their gear and walked toward the lake. Will took her hand and pulled her into an embrace. "I'm sorry," he whispered into ear and began to sob.  
  
****  
Together they caught three fish worth bringing home. Will enthusiastically explained to her the particulars of gutting a fish while the dogs looked on. It reminded Abigail of happier times with her father, when they still only hunted deer. When they ate their dinner Abigail felt better than she had months and she suspected Will did too. Later that night as she readied herself to leave she asked if she could stop by again.  
  
He nodded. "Just let me know before you stop by so I can't put on pants."  
  
Abigail laughed. "That's a promise."  
  
When she got to her motel she pulled out her cell phone and made an appointment with Freddie Lounds for the next day. When she was done with that she called Clarice Starling.    
  
"Hello, Clarice," Abigail said. "I'm sorry to call so late. This is Abigail Hobbs."  
  
"Abigail Hobbs? Yes, hello," Staling stammered. "It's not too late. How can I help you?"  
  
"I'm going to email you the details about Hannibal's house in Florence," she said. "I stayed there for a while and Hannibal knows it so I don't think he would be staying there but you might want to look at it. He has a few different fake IDs he kept in the house. I didn't touch them so they might still be there. Hannibal could be going under one of those aliases."  
  
"Thank you Miss Hobbs," Starling said. "Thank you very much. I'll make sure it gets checked out."  
  
"Goodnight, Clarice."  
  
"One more thing before you go, Miss Hobbs," she said. "Dr. Alana Bloom wanted me to tell you that she wants to talk to you. Goodnight."  
  
*****  
Freddie Lounds lived in a very stylish apartment. Abigail felt like she had stepped into an IKEA catalog. "This is much nicer than meeting in that old hospital, isn't it?" Freddie said, handing Abigail a cup of tea in a white mug. Abigail nodded.   
  
"I'm really glad you called me, Abigail," Freddie continued. "You and I are going to make an excellent team."  
  
"Can I ask you a question?"  
  
"Of course," Freddie answered. "I'm your friend, you can ask me anything."  
  
Abigail raised her eyebrows. "I signed off the rights to my life story to you. Why didn't you write a book anyway? Don't you think it would have sold more copies because of my tragic death?"  
  
"I made a series of blog posts instead," she said. "I made a lot of money on ad revenue. We didn't really talk long enough for me to get your whole story. The book would have been incomplete. But we can fix that now. We can tell your story. Tell me Abigail, what are you hoping to get out of this other than money?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Public perception is one of the most powerful forces there is," Freddie said. "And if you are able to control how people perceive you, you'll be unstoppable. How do you think Hannibal Lecter got away with it for long? He's a mastermind of persona. I can make you a mastermind too."  
  
"People hate me," Abigail said.   
  
"We can make people not hate you," she said. "And we can do better than that. We can make them love you. We can make them respect you. It's all a matter of constructing our words in a persuasive order. So Abigail Hobbs, if you could be anyone who would you want to be?"   
  
"I don't know." Abigail fiddled with her hair and looked down into her lap. "An elegant person. A college educated person."  
  
"Honey, I can make colleges beg to take you in," Freddie assured her. "Now the writing isn't the only we need to focus on. You're a young woman who was manipulated into doing terrible things, we need to make you sympathetic. We need to make you look sympathetic. You shouldn't hide your scars, they work in your favor. I'm going to make you an appointment with some stylists. I'll put up the money for it, I am going to make it all back and then some when we publish the book. We're going to completely reinvent you, how does that sound?"  
  
"Um..."  
  
"I know this sounds overwhelming," Freddie said. "But it's going to be so worthwhile. You'll see."  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Clarice Starling was in a good mood. These days her good moods were few and far between so she was determined to make the best of it. Ardelia was always getting on her about how she should take some time to do nice things for herself. So when she had the day off she grabbed a novel she had been meaning to read for the better part of a year and headed to her favorite coffee shop. The weather was pleasant and she enjoyed the walk immensely. When she arrived she ordered a large coffee and a bran muffin and took a place on the patio. Starling had been immersed in her book for about half and hour when a shadow loomed over her.  
  
"Fancy meeting you here, Clarice." Abigail Hobbs smiled down at her. She wore a fitted blue silk dress and a pair of dangerously high black pumps. "I hope you won't mind if I sit down. These shoes look a lot better than they feel."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Abigail took the chair next to her and slide of her shoes, placing them neatly on the ground.   
  
"What are you doing in Baltimore, Miss Hobbs?" Starling asked.    
  
"I'm um," she said. "I'm writing a book. Sort of. I'm telling things to Freddie Lounds and she's writing a book."  
  
"Oh," said Starling. "That's...nice."  
  
Abigail smiled. "I forgot how much you FBI folks hate her. She had a field day during Hannibal's trial. Jack Crawford being so close to Hannibal was very big story. Especially considering he killed that trainee."  
  
"I wouldn't mention that around him. He hates to talk about it."  
  
"I don't plan of ever mentioning anything around him," Abigail said. "I'm going to get a coffee." She walked into the shop with her bare feet.   
  
Starling fiddled with her hands waiting for her to return. Abigail returned with two cups in hand. "You looked like you could use a refill."  
  
"Thank you," she said. "You know I'm glad we ran into each other. I wanted to tell to that the law enforcement officials in Florence went to that house you told us about and found Dr. Lecter's forged papers. It's the most solid lead we've had since we started the investigation. Agent Crawford is very pleased. I think we have a much better chance at catching him now that you're more inclined to cooperate with us."  
  
"Clarice," said Abigail, "I believe you could catch him. He's not infallible no matter how much he seems to be. But I don't think you're going to find him if he doesn't want to be found. Patience is what you need with him, not anything I can give you. Cooperation is in my best interest, that's the only reason I bother. He'll get bored of hiding someday and come back to fuck with all of us."  
  
Starling looked down into her coffee and sighed. Her good mood had subsided.   
  
"Don't get down on yourself, Clarice," she continued. "It's not a reflection on you."  
  
"You're an interesting girl, Abigail Hobbs," Clarice said. "You're a bit like...nevermind actually."  
  
"A bit like Hannibal?" she said. "People say that a lot. They always mean it as a compliment too. Odd considering what kind of man he is. It's better than being compared to my father anyway."  
  
Starling considered the woman across from her. She still didn't know what to make of Abigail Hobbs. She was more open and friendly then when they had met in Minnesota but she still had a cold edge to her. Starling couldn't pinpoint exactly what about Hobbs reminded her of Dr. Lecter, but she was drawn to her in the same way. It was curiosity that lead her to ask, "how long are you going to be in town?"  
  
Abigail shrugged. "I have no idea. A while. I might stay here. I'm sick of the country. I might move to Minneapolis. I don't know. Why?"  
  
"My roommate and I are having a party on Friday," she said, "if you want to come. It's just a casual thing. Chips and dip, you know."  
  
"Will it be other FBI agents there?"  
  
"Not entirely," Starling replied.   
  
"I might," Abigail said. "Anyway, I have to get back to my dog before she starts to miss me. I was planing on getting the coffee to go." She leaned down to put her shoes back on and stood up. "Have a nice day, Clarice."  
  
Starling reached out and shook her hand. "You too, Miss Hobbs."  
  
"Clarice," she said, "if you're going to be inviting me to parties and think we're friendly enough for you to call me Abigail."  
  
****  
"You invited Abigail Hobbs to my party?"   
  
"It's our party, Ardelia," Starling said. "And you said I could invite whoever I wanted."  
  
"I'm not mad, Clarice," Ardelia said. "I just find it odd considering last time we talked you seemed to think she was a frigid bitch."  
  
Starling sighed and flopped on the couch. "I don't know, really. She's interesting that's all."  
  
Ardelia raised her eyebrows. "Whatever, Starling."   
  
****  
Abigail had been in Baltimore for two weeks. The advantage of having a stay at home job was being able to do it from wherever your home was. Currently her home was mediocre hotel room. She had stayed in worse places but she was getting tired of it fast. She split here time between here and Freddie's apartment and Will's house. Elizabeth needed a place to run around and she got along with the other dogs. Her and Will still didn't talk much but for now it was enough to spend time in each other's presence.   
  
Her run in with Clarice Starling this afternoon had given her a lot to think about. Alana Bloom always told her not to lock herself away from the world and that was exactly what Abigail had done. The world didn't want her so she stayed away from it. It'd been years since she'd been to a party. She did have friends in Minnesota. People she would see when she went into town. But there weren't many.   
  
Clarice had sent her Alana Bloom's contact information and Abigail had tried to push it to the back of her mind. Abigail had never really felt comfortable around her. You're supposed to be able to share everything with your psychiatrist and Abigail didn't have that option. In retrospect all the advice Alana had given her had been solid but she was unable to apply it at the time.      
  
Abigail fished her phone out of her bag and dialed Alana's number.   
  
It rang twice before she picked up. "Dr. Bloom."  
  
Abigail panicked and hung up. "Shit," she muttered to herself.   
  
***  
Somewhere in Paris Hannibal Lecter sat in a cafe. He wore dark blue jeans with a crisp white button up shirt. It was more casual attire than he generally preferred but the quality of his garments were unparalleled. The doctor drank espresso out of a small porcelain cup and looked intently at his Ipad. A Tattle Crime headline read: _Abigail Hobbs the Daughter of the Minnesota Shrike to Write Book with Freddie Lounds._ Hannibal clucked his tongue disapprovingly.     
  
When he had finished his drink he took a walk to the nearest stationary shop to make a purchase and then back to his apartment. He sat at his desk and took out his best black fountain pen and wrote: _Dear Abigail,_  
  
 _I hope this letter finds you in good health. You have not made any attempt to responded to any of my previous letters but I am confident that you have read them. I hope my letters add some interest to what I assume is your rather uneventful life. Abigail, I just saw the news that you are yet again planing on writing a book with Freddie Lounds. Like I did the first time, I am now strongly discouraging you from this. I will remind you that this will open doors and you will not be able to control what comes through them. You may think the few secrets that you are keeping are safe. I assure you they are not. Your activities involving your father and poor Nicholas Boyle are well known but your activities after you came to Florence are not._  
  
 _And Abigail, think before you put yourself in the spotlight again. You are a liar and a murderer and the public will not be kind to you. I know this from experience and I have endured it, even relished in it, but while you have always had a talent for endurance, you have your limits and this will push them._  
  
 _If you are stubborn and refuse my counsel you should seek out the opinion of our dear Will. If he can find it in his heart to forgive you, I am certain he would tell you the same thing._  
  
 _Take a look at yourself, Abigail, and realize who you are. Look at the scar you bare from your father, and the scar you bare from me. Look at all the scars on your body and remember what caused them to be there. Your scars are a blessing. They remind you of who you are, Abigail. You are a child of great and magnificent darkness. I advise you to stay away from the light._  
  
 _Your friend,_  
 _Hannibal Lecter M.D._  
  
 _P.S. Tell Clarice I say hello._   
  



	8. Chapter 8

Abigail threw the small pile of the clothes Freddie had bought her on the bed. They all seemed too formal for a casual party but she was sick of all her other clothes. Maybe she thought, if she wore a jean jacket over a dress that would make it more casual. She remembered once upon a time reading fashion magazines that contained advice like that. Her mother was never helpful in the fashion department and discouraged Abigail's interest. Abigail used to live in fear of ending up like her mother, so mundane and unglamorous. The elegance she craved wasn't to be found in her adolescence.   
  
Abigail laughed at herself. Here she was five hours before a party feeling anxious about how she would look like she was sixteen again. She glanced at her phone remembering her awkward attempted phone call from the other night. _You have to stop hiding, Abigail_ , she thought to herself and picked up the phone again.   
  
"Dr. Bloom speaking."  
  
"Hi," she said. "This is Abigail. Abigail Hobbs."  
  
"Abigail!" She sounded happy.  
  
"Yeah," she said. "Abigail. Um, Agent Starling said you wanted to talk to me."  
  
"Yeah," Alana said. "Yeah. I just wanted to see how you're doing. I haven't hear from you in well, years. How are you?"  
  
"Okay," she replied. "Listen, this is a weird question but I'm going to a party tonight and I don't know what to wear. And I don't know who to ask. It's been awhile since I've gone to one of these things."  
  
"What kind of party is it?"  
  
"Casual," Abigail said, "but I want to look nice."  
  
"Okay," she said, "do you have a silk blouse?"  
  
"I have a couple."  
  
"Good," Alana said. "Wear one with jeans and nice flats. Wear your hair down and use a light hand with the make up."  
  
"Alright," she said, "I'll do that. Thanks."  
  
"Abigail?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Could we get together sometime?" Alana asked. "I could make you dinner. We could talk."  
  
"Sure okay."  
  
"Great," said Alana. "Have fun at your party."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
****  
The party was in full swing by the time Abigail got there. She let herself in hoping not to make a big entrance. Loud music played but hardly anyone was dancing. Most of the guest sat or stood, engrossed in conversation. Abigail headed straight to the kitchen to find a beer. She chugged it down and grabbed another.   
   
Starling emerged from a bedroom. "Abigail, hi." She smiled.  
  
"Good evening, Clarice," Abigail replied. "Nice party."  
  
"I'm glad you come," Starling said. "Come on let me introduce you to my roommate." She pulled Abigail into the living room. "Ardelia, this is Abigail. Abigail, this is Ardelia."   
  
Ardelia reached out a shook Abigail's hand. "Any friend of Clarice's is a friend of mine. Come sit down."  
  
Abigail joined her on the couch. "Thanks."  
  
A boy sitting on a chair near them said, "I recognize you. Abigail Hobbs, right? We learned about your father in class. That's some crazy shit, man."  
  
Abigail took a drink and answered, "yeah it was."  
  
"Don't be rude, Derek," Ardelia scolded.   
  
"Sorry," he said, "but it's not everyday we have a real live criminal at a party full of FBI agents."  
  
"You're still a student," Ardelia said. "And fuck off." She manged to steer the conversation in another direction and Starling left to do her hostess duties elsewhere.  
  
Abigail was out of her element. There were too many movies she hadn't seen. Books she hadn't read. Too many news stories she wasn't following. She mostly smiled and nodded and drank.    
  
After a while the party wound down and Abigail wondered onto the small patio and found Starling there.   
  
"Can you see the stars, Abigail?" Starling asked.  
  
"Just a few," she replied.   
  
"I miss that about home," she said. "In the middle of nowhere you can see all the stars. It really makes you feel like you belong to something significant."  
  
"They always make me feel inadequate," Abigail said. "There are so many. The universe it so big and I'm just one little person in a never ending universe. How could I possibly matter."  
  
"Everybody matters," Starling said.   
  
"Why did you invite me, Clarice?" Abigail asked.   
  
"I don't know," she said. "I think you're interesting. I want to get to know you."  
  
"I'm not a good person."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Then why do you want to know me?"  
  
She didn't answer. Instead she leaned forward and planted an uncertain kiss on Abigail's lips.   
  
"Agent Starling," Abigail said. "How drunk are you?  
  
"Very drunk."  
  
"Me too." Abigail took a hold of Starling's hair and pulled her close. Abigail's kiss was much more aggressive.   
  
Clarice Starling stood breathless.   
  
Abigail took a moment to catch her breath and said, "well, thanks for the party, Clarice. I should go head out."  
  
"Oh," Starling said, and watched Abigail walk away.   
 


	9. Chapter 9

Starling curled up in her bed trying to ignore her hangover and wishing she had drank enough to forget the events of the night before. What the fuck had she been thinking? She could hear Ardelia moving around in the kitchen and finally pulled herself up and threw a robe over her crumpled clothes.

"Good afternoon, sunshine," Ardelia said, handing her a glass of water and an aspirin.

"Thanks," she said. "How come you look so bright eyed and bushy tailed?"

"Some of us didn't drink as much as others," Ardelia said.

Starling went to pull some cereal out of the cupboard. "I did something stupid last night. Really stupid."

"What happened?"

"I kissed Abigail Hobbs on the balcony."

"Really?" Ardelia asked. "Shit, I wouldn't have saw that coming. What'd she say?"

"She kissed me back," Starling said. "Then she left without saying anything." She put her head down on the counter and groaned. "I'm such an idiot."

Ardelia rubbed her back. "Are you into her? Like really into her?"

"I don't know."

"That's not a good answer," Ardelia said. "Listen, eat your cereal and then go take a shower. While you're in there do some very serious thinking about your feelings for her. If it's just a passing infatuation, forget about her. If it's serious you have to go talk to her, okay?"

"Okay."

The hot water did little to sooth her pounding head but it felt good to get clean. She didn't want to make decisions about what she felt for someone she had known for such a little amount of time. How was she to know if it was just a passing infatuation or something serious? Starling didn't really do relationships. She dated of course, but only ever men. Mostly she just wanted to focus on her career and ignore distractions

After her shower she put herself back to bed and slept the day away. When she woke up she knew she had to pay Abigail Hobbs a visit.

It didn't take Starling long to find where Abigail was staying. Abigail answered the door with her black hair loose and wet around her shoulders and a white robe clinging to her body.

"Oh sorry," Starling said. "I didn't mean to interrupt your shower."

"That's fine," Abigail said. "I was getting out anyway."

"Um...can I come in?"

Abigail nodded and let her through.

"Listen, Miss Hobbs...Abigail," Starling said. "I think I should just be honest and say I'm interested in you. And I think you're interested in me too. But I'm sorry if I crossed the line the night."

"Clarice," Abigail said, "you don't want to be involved with me. Really you don't."

"I can't stop thinking about you."

Abigail shook her head. "You're pretty Clarice, pretty and smart. It can't be hard for you to find some else. Someone better than me."

"Why do you say that?" Starling asked. "Would you really rather shut yourself away in that little cabin and stay away from people? Why do you say there's someone better?"

Abigail looked her in the eye and said, "because Hannibal killed the last woman I was in love with." She sunk onto her bed. "I'm like him, Clarice. A corrupting influence. Everything around me gets ruined. It's better for people if I stay in that little cabin. I never should have come out of it. I shouldn't of come here. I'm sorry."

Clarice sat down next to her. "Just because bad things happened around you to people you care about doesn't mean you caused them. Some things just happen. We can't control other people."

"I helped my father kill those girls," Abigail said. "And a lot of doctors threw a lot of psychological terms around to explain why I did that. But you can toss around fancy words all you want. I did what I did. And this is how I suffer for it."

"You know why you're not like Dr. Lecter?" Starling said. "Because Dr. Lecter wouldn't think he did anything he wasn't entitled to do and he wouldn't think he deserved to suffer for it."

Abigail rested her head on Starling's shoulder. The water from her hair soaked through Starling's shirt but she didn't move.

"You've never been with a woman before, have you, Clarice?" Abigail asked.

"Can't say I have."

Abigail stood up. "Well, there's a first time for everything." She leaned down and kissed her. Her hands moved to undo Starling's shirt.

"First time for everything right now?" Starling asked.

"If you want," Abigail said.

Starling nodded. "I do."

* * *

Clarice Starling sat in the bed, wrapped in blankets and watched the sun slowly fall from the sky. Abigail had gone to get some snacks from the vending machine down the hall.

"Okay," she said on her return, "I got snickers, potato chips and chocolate milk. You're a cheap date, Clarice Starling."

Starling smiled and grabbed the potato chips. "I should head home soon."

"Already?" Abigail pouted.

"I have work tomorrow."

"How's the great search for Hannibal going?"

"Poorly," she answered. "I think you're right. We're never gonna find him. His aunt is going to be in the country next week though. I'll go talk to her."

Abigail sat next to her on the bed and chewed on her snickers. "Wanna go see a movie sometime or something? I'm not really good at this whole dating thing."

"Neither am I," Starling said. "A movie sounds good though. I don't even know what's out."

Abigail shrugged. "I'll look into it." She watched Starling put on her rumpled clothes. "Clarice."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing."

"Abigail, can I ask you something?"

"You've done nothing but ask me questions since we met." Abigail gave her a small smile. "Go ahead."

"Who was a girl you loved? That Dr. Lecter killed?"

"Marrissa," Abigail said. "Her name was Marrissa.... We never really dated, not properly. And we would fight all the time. God, she was a bitch sometimes. I was too. I think we hurt each other more than we loved each other, but we did love each other. Hannibal killed her like my father killed girls. He stuck her up on a pair on antlers in the cabin. I found her. He thought it was amusing."

"I'm sorry."

Abigail shrugged. "You're the not the one that killed her."

"He'll go back to prison eventually," Starling said. "He will, I promise."

"Why bother?" Abigail said. "If you see him, just shoot him."

Starling shook her head. "I couldn't do that.'

"No," Abigail said. "You couldn't."

After Clarice Starling took her leave Abigail set about putting the room back in order. She lingered over the letter she had received from Hannibal that morning. She wondered if she should have told Clarice about it. The letter did mention her. _Tell Clarice I say hello_ , he said. But no, she had told Clarice enough of her secrets for one day. This, she would keep to herself.


End file.
